By our second trip to Colombia, we’d figured out that a week or so with Juan’s mom was probably about my limit before I needed a little breathing room.

I love his mom.

But privacy is a little different in Colombia.

If you’re in the bathroom, someone might be on the other side of the door talking to you.

If you’re sitting somewhere, someone wants to talk.

If you’re eating, someone is probably eating too.

And sometimes I just wanted to have an English conversation with my husband without having to split my attention.

So, on one trip, we decided to get away for a few days.

We arrived in December, just in time for Christmas.

That was my first mistake.

Christmas in Colombia is loud.

New Year’s is louder.

And New Year’s in Colombia is, apparently, a completely different category of loud.

It was also sunny and hot.

In Canada, December means winter coats, snowbanks and wondering if your car will start.

In Colombia, it meant sunshine, music, family and people talking through bathroom doors.

I needed a little space.

So we went to Salento.

Salento is a small town in Quindío, in the heart of Colombia’s coffee region.

I’d heard about the Cocora Valley and its enormous wax palms. I’d heard about the coffee farms. I knew we were in coffee country.

We only had a few days, though, so we weren’t going to see everything.

We took a bus.

About three and a half hours.

I get carsick.

So by the time we arrived, I was already questioning some of our decisions.

The bus dropped us at a gas station, where our host met us in a Willy’s Jeep.

We climbed in and started up the hills.

Forty minutes of winding roads and dirt tracks later, we arrived at the finca.

Juan was having a wonderful time talking with the driver.

I was trying to find good thoughts.

The finca itself was charming.

Old.

Clean.

Well cared for.

The whole family seemed to be involved in running it.

There was a bamboo forest on the property, fruit and vegetables growing around us, and giant banana and plantain trees.

At one point, we stopped and I saw a pineapple growing.

Growing.

I had apparently never stopped to consider where pineapples came from.

I had assumed they just appeared in grocery stores.

😂

The next day we headed into Salento.

Another car ride.

The town was colourful and lively, with painted buildings, little artisan shops and people everywhere.

I bought my first hat.

It looked wonderfully old-fashioned and handmade, which made me like it even more.

We found some great food.

We found coffee.

We found neat little cafés.

And then we climbed the stairs to the lookout over the town and the Quindío River.

It was beautiful.

We sat for a while.

We drank coffee.

And I had what remains one of my favourite drinks in Colombia:

limonada de coco.

I would happily go back for that alone.

We didn’t make it to a coffee plantation that trip.

The timing wasn’t right.

The growing season wasn’t right.

We knew we’d come back.

And we did.

But what stayed with me wasn’t the list of things we had managed to see.

It was how much there was that we hadn’t.

Everywhere we went, we met people.

We’d start talking.

They’d ask questions.

We’d ask questions.

And then, somehow, it would become difficult to leave.

We wanted another hour.

Another coffee.

Another conversation.

Another look around.

Juan was discovering things too.

He had left Colombia when he was young and had spent most of his adult life away from it.

And I think one of the things that surprised both of us was realizing that there was so much country in his country.

Every new place seemed to give him another reason to be proud of where he came from.

And every new place gave me another reason to want to see what was around the next corner.

We weren’t really checking places off a list.

We were just taking in the days.

And there was still so much to see.